


Exit Right Lane

by raging_storm (orphan_account)



Series: Unfinished Works [1]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Band, Anxiety, Blurryface, Depression, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drunk Tyler, Gay Josh, Gay Tyler, Hospitalization, M/M, Mental Illness, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Parties, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Violence, joshler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 13:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11829747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/raging_storm
Summary: Tyler wakes up with a pounding headache in a strange house, with no recollection of how he got there.A red-haired stranger explains everything, from the party, to getting drunk, to how he wound up talking Tyler down from a bridge.----------------This was my first-ever piece of fiction on the Archive. I'm back at it again.Renamed "Exit Right Lane" (formerly 'and nøw i just sit in silence') to match my most recent work, "Exit Left Lane."Here.





	Exit Right Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who supported me on the Archive. 
> 
> My first fanfic I ever wrote regarding twenty one pilots.  
> Here you go.

Tyler Joseph does not get drunk. When he was younger, his parents stressed that doing things under the influence would always end badly. And judging from what Tyler has seen in various places; parties, in alleys, even walking home from school, he doesn't ever want to experience being drunk, either.

So he can't explain what happened when he wakes up draped over a couch in a dark and silent house, and his head is pounding. His limbs hurt too, since he's at such an awkward angle, and his arm is tingling because he's laying on it.

 _Shit_ , he thinks. That was another thing his parents told him not to do. Cuss. But Tyler thinks he reserves the right to, especially since he's in some strange person's house, on some strange person's couch, and was so obviously passed out there, with no recollection of how he got there.

Tyler rubs at his eyes, pushes himself into a sitting position with much effort, and looks around. He's in a living room, it's clearer to him now. There's a TV on top of a stand, another armchair, a lamp that's plugged into an outlet in the corner. And Tyler panics, because he has no idea how the hell he got there, and the foreign environment is making him dizzy. And itchy. He scratches at his arms.

If getting into a sitting position was agony, standing up is pure, unadulterated pain. But Tyler manages to do it anyway, swaying on his feet as the room dips and spins around him. This increases the pounding in his head.

He makes himself take a step. Then another step. Slowly towards what looks like the kitchen. Tyler's mind can't be too sure, but it has a sink and a stove in it, so it must be the kitchen. He has to get out of this strange house.

Another five steps, however, and it's clear Tyler's going to spew the contents of his stomach everywhere. He really doesn't want to get it on this person's nice rug, but he doesn't really want to not throw up either, because his stomach is churning and he feels like shit, and throwing up will probably chase a lot of the pain away.

He's indecisive, but apparently his bodily functions are not fully under his control. He leans sideways and vomits, shaking the entire time, until there's just a puddle of bile sinking into the carpet on the floor.

Oh, well. At least it kind of blends in.

He makes his way to the kitchen and towards the island countertop. He doesn't know his way around the strange house, but instinct tells him the front door is close.

Considering he clearly got wasted, maybe it's best not to trust his instincts, though.

He's aware of a sharp pain in his arm, and he turns his wrist slightly. It's swollen and an angry red, even though there's no visible wound. And turning it makes the pain intensify until Tyler feels like he's going to black out again.

"Damn," he mutters out loud, and stumbles out of the kitchen. But his foot catches on the ground, and suddenly the world is tilting again, and he's on his back, looking up at the white painted ceiling. His head hurts more. He realizes he must've hit it.

A laugh escapes his throat, even though there's nothing remotely funny about the situation. He thinks he hears footsteps, but he can't be sure. He's too out of it to be sure. And Blurryface takes that moment to jump in, snarling about how pathetic he is. Pathetic for getting drunk, for not even being able to fucking walk, for being overall useless.

Tyler blacks out again on the floor, letting the darkness claim him.

\-------

"Where am I?"

"Do you really not remember?"

\-------

When Tyler opens his eyes again, he feels slightly better. He's back on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and sunlight from the windows is streaming in. It must be daytime. It's hitting him right in the face, though, and the light hurts so badly he turns away, facing the back of the couch.

That's when he panics again. How is he back on the couch? Where did this blanket come from? He recalls hearing footsteps. Oh god, someone is in this house with him.

Tyler finds he can't take deep breaths, and he panics even more, putting his head between his knees and trying to drag in a lungful of fresh air, but it's not working, and he can't fucking breathe. This is just the perfect moment to have a panic attack.

Someone is at his side instantly. Tyler sees the legs, clad in jeans, hears a voice telling him to calm down and breathe with him.

He mirrors the stranger's breaths until he feels his chest loosening. He's calm now, in control.

He looks up. A man's face is looking back at him. Tyler sees gauges in his ears, a pierced lip, dark brown hair that's shaved on the sides and dyed red, Mohawk-style. It's the kind of guy his parents would never, ever let him befriend. So naturally, he jerks back in surprise, flinching away into the back of the couch.

The stranger kneels beside him. "Hey, it's okay," he says gently. "You're okay."

What the hell? Tyler thinks, but all that comes out of his mouth is a guttural sound.

The stranger introduces himself. "I'm Josh," he says. He smiles at Tyler.

As much as Tyler doesn't want to reply, just wants to get the hell out of this uncomfortable and alien situation, his parents taught him respect and politeness. And anyways, it seems kind of unfair not to at least give your name to a guy who clearly dealt with your inebriation.

"I'm Tyler," Tyler says, but it comes out creaky. His throat feels dry, and he realizes how badly he needs water. He tries swallowing, but can't.

Josh, as the punk dude is now known, catches onto this. "Wait here," he says, and goes to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and bringing it back to Tyler.

He helps Tyler hold it, because Tyler obviously needs it, and helps him drink until Tyler motions he's had enough. Josh takes the half-filled glass and sets it aside on a table behind Tyler. Then he sits himself down on the ground, crisscross, and gets right to it.

"So," Josh says. "You had a rough night, huh?"

He sounds joking, and Tyler doesn't appreciate it. He shakes his head yes, then no. He's still a bit confused. "I guess," he hears himself saying. Uncertain.

"Do you remember anything?" Josh says softly, and Tyler quickly shakes his head no.

Josh looks a little disappointed, a little bit relieved, and some other mixed feelings Tyler can't decipher. "Honestly, that's kind of a good thing. I can explain at your pace."

"What happened to me?" Tyler blurts out. "Who are you? Why'd you help me? I don't get what's going on. Where am I?"

"One question at a time," Josh laughs, then his face morphs into a serious expression. He drags a hand through his red hair, and all Tyler can think of is how the gesture is kind of adorable.

"Okay, so...let's see...last night, you got pretty wasted, dude," Josh starts, and Tyler's heart sinks. Even though it was obvious to him that he did, he still didn't want to believe it. "You were at some party or something, and I found you wandering on the road at like 2 AM. I wasn't going to pick you up, but something you did changed my mind." Josh stops and looks at Tyler. He hesitates. "Do you want me to go?" he asks. "You did something disturbing, but I feel like you need to know this."

Tyler feels a lump in his throat as he nods. Josh continues.

"You came up to a bridge," Josh says. He now has a sad look on his face.

Tyler thinks how wrong it is. Josh's face should radiate happiness, not sadness. The expression upsets him for some reason he can't explain.

"There was a wooden guardrail. You, uh, climbed up on top of it. I stopped my truck, got out. I yelled to you, but you ignored it. I ran to you, and you were, like, talking to yourself. You screamed. Then you started to jump." Josh stops again, quickly looking at Tyler's face to gauge his reaction.

Tyler is silent. The memory is cloudy, but coming back, in bits and pieces. First he's relieved that he's alive, then he's disappointed that he's not dead, then he's angry at Josh, because it's so obvious Josh saved him, or he wouldn't be here.

Blurryface chuckles, all cold and sharp. _You couldn't even die properly,_ he says, and Tyler flinches.

The moment is not lost on Josh, who puts a hand on Tyler's shoulder. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, and he thinks Tyler's movement is from the story, not from the permanent "guest" in Tyler's head.

"No," Tyler says, shaking his head violently to clear Blurry from his mind. Josh probably thinks he's a psycho or at least has some mental disorder or something, but Josh doesn't seem to care. And he certainly doesn't know about the permanent "guest" inside Tyler's head. 

"Right. So, I like, caught you by the arm. Your wrist. But you were struggling, trying to drop...I managed to pull you up, and you passed out after that. So I put you in my truck and brought you back here. I figured you were in no condition to go anywhere, so I tried to take care of you."

This explains why Tyler's wrist is bruised and swollen. Because a stranger tried to save him from making a terrible mistake.

But it's not terrible in Tyler's eyes.

"Your hoodie was ruined," Josh says. "You threw up all over it when you got into the house. I put it in the washing machine, but it's still, um, stained."

Tyler doesn't care about the hoodie, honestly. He hasn't even noticed it's gone. His head is wrapped around one detail. "I tried to commit suicide?" His voice cracks as he asks the question.

Josh gazes at him. His expression one of pain. "You were really drunk," he says. "You probably didn't know what you were doing. But yeah. That's what it looked like. I'm so sorry, man."

Tyler sinks back into the couch and closes his eyes. He doesn't want to look at Josh. He doesn't want to hear the rest of the story. He just wanted to die, to be free, to fly through the air and hit the ground with a finality. He wanted the credits to roll. He wanted to be done with life, with living.

He freezes when he feels Josh wrap an arm around his shoulders. The movement should be comforting, but it's not, and Tyler tears away from his touch, throwing off the blanket and standing up.

Josh stands up too, his expression somewhat hurt, but Tyler doesn't care. "I have to go," he says hurriedly. "I can't stay here."

Josh nods, understanding. "Do you have someplace to go? I can drive you there," he offers, but Tyler shakes his head.

"I can walk," he says.

Josh knits his brows. "Are you sure?" he asks. "You have no idea where you are right now. You may not recognise my neighborhood, or know where to get from here."

Josh has some good logic, but Tyler ignores it. "I'll be fine," he says. He just wants to get away, to finish what he started. Blurryface is telling him to end it, to get away from Josh and anything to do with Josh.

"Alright," Josh says uncertainly. "I'll show you out." He brings Tyler to the front door. It's not through the kitchen like Tyler thought.

"Well...good luck," Josh says awkwardly, and Tyler sticks his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans. Not wanting to say goodbye.

He says it anyways. "Bye," he says, and lurches down the front steps, almost tripping on his own feet and face-planting on the ground. He manages not to fall, and makes his way down Josh's driveway.

Josh watches him go, making sure he makes it off his property alive. When Tyler walks down the street in a staggering line and out of sight, only then does Josh go back inside, closing the door behind him.

For some reason, he feels like this won't be the last he sees of Tyler.

\-------

"And you said you'd make it home."

"Shut up, Josh."

\-------

Okay, so maybe declining a ride from Josh wasn't the smartest thing to do. Tyler's still nursing a hangover, and he has no idea where the hell he is. He also realises that he doesn't have his phone, and has no idea where it went.

Cursing his stupid luck, he continues down the sidewalk, while Blurryface taunts him.

"You're stupid, you know that? Look at you."

"This is why your parents thought you'd never amount to anything. Because of your fucking awful choices."

"Do you think anyone cares about you, Tyler? Even Josh felt sorry for you. It's pity, pure and simple. They pity poor, broken Tyler Joseph."

Tyler wants to stab a fork into his brain to shut Blurry up. He came close to doing that once, when he was eighteen. But of course, stabbing a fork into his brain would kill himself as well as the voice.

He wonders if he'd find the idea of killing himself more appealing now. Clearly, since he was standing on a bridge less than a day ago, he wants to.

After a few minutes of wandering around, trying to find an end to this stupid neighborhood, he admits defeat. All the houses look the same, and there's too many intersections and not a familiar street in sight. Somehow he finds himself angrily walking back to Josh's house.

When the green-shuttered house comes into sight, he steels himself. He doesn't really want Josh's help, but Blurry's right. He really is useless. He needs to depend on a stranger for help, because he can't even help himself. Hell, he doesn't even have his wallet anymore, or his fucking keys.

Tyler walks back up those dreaded front steps and knocks on the door. Moments later, he hears it unlock, and it's thrown open to reveal that shock of red hair, and Josh.

"Well," Josh says, "this is a surprise."

Tyler stands on the step, staring at his feet. He coughs. "I, uh..."

Josh's stern voice washes over him. "You need help?" he asks, and blushing furiously, Tyler nods. "I thought so. Come in."

Josh steps aside to allow Tyler inside, and Tyler sees he's grinning. "Shut up," he mutters, even though Josh isn't talking, and Josh laughs long and loud, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

 

Josh leads him back to the kitchen and into a seat at the table. "Well, now that I've got a stranger in my home, I gotta be polite, yeah? Want something to eat?"

Tyler kneads his forehead. "No thanks," he says. "I just need a place to, y'know...rest. Headache."

Josh hums a song by the Arctic Monkeys while he rummages through the fridge. "You sure?"

Tyler tries not to slouch in the cold wooden chair. "Yeah."

Josh shrugs, takes out a carton of orange juice, pours himself a glass. "Whatever you say," he tells Tyler, "but you have to drink something. Water, you need water in your system."

And Tyler nods, so Josh pours him a glass of ice water and hands it to him. Condensation from the ice already forms on the glass, cool on Tyler's palm. The ice cubes clink merrily.

"You wanna lie back down on the couch?" 

Tyler swallows the whole glass because he's  _thirsty,_ and his mouth is dry and still tastes like vomit. It eases the headache slightly. 

"You want some Tylenol or something?" Josh asks. 

"If you don't mind," Tyler says gratefully, because the headache is killing him at this point. Is a hangover really this bad?

_You're so fucking stupid._

Tyler swallows, tunes out Blurryface, taps his fingers on the table nervously. Josh comes back with two white pills. Tyler dry swallows them.

"Hey, you're safe here," Josh says, noting Tyler's anxious body language. "You wanna lie down now?"

He's tired. His eyelids are drooping. The Tylenol must be quick-acting, because he's already feeling the effects. He didn't know the medicine which could numb his physical pain could also numb the feeling in his heart.

Probably because he doesn't want a strange man to pass out at his dinner table, Josh snaps his fingers under Tyler's nose, which jolts him back to reality. 

"Crap, sorry," Tyler says. He rubs his eyes. Josh stares at him with infinite pity. Tyler wishes he wouldn't. 

"It's fine. So, about lying down...?" 

It's the third time Josh has mentioned it. Tyler nods quickly. "Think that would be best," he says. Josh shows him back to the living room, to the couch. "All yours," he says.

Tyler lies down.

"Let me drive you home," Josh says.

Tyler close his eyes.

"'Night," Josh says, and turns the lamp off. Even though it's morning. 

And when he thinks Tyler is asleep, he whispers to the dark, to the shadows, "You're not alone." He thinks Tyler doesn't hear him. 

But he does.

"

**Author's Note:**

> I just realized "AO3" does mean "Archive of Our Own." Obviously, but I came to the realization that "A" means "Archive", and "O3" is a nod to "Of Our Own." Get it? "Of Our Own" has 3 O's.
> 
> Archive of Our Own.  
> AO3.


End file.
